


The Hero of Baldur's Gate

by BillieLiar



Series: The Red Death [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BillieLiar/pseuds/BillieLiar
Summary: Basically just a narrative practice writing thing I'm doing. It'll follow the plot of the games with slight deviations and add-ins. The characters will likely develop fairly differently than they do in the games as this is largely a method of expressing my annoyance with some of the characters' writing, haha.Cait is a chaotic neutral rogue/mage with a temper, napoleon syndrome, and trust issues. If you know the game, you know the rest!
Relationships: Charname/Dorn Il-Khan
Series: The Red Death [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061927





	The Hero of Baldur's Gate

It was spring, and as the sun rose over the walls and turrets of Candlekeep Gorian's ward, Cait, sighed and began the familiar process of scrambling down from Dreppin's hayloft, which she had spent the night in. The soft golden light of morning softened the edges of each familiar line and stone in her often-resented home, and despite her knowledge that time was pressing, Cait struggled to force herself to move forward. Gorian had told her to be ready to leave by no later than midday, and if she was going to get in a last morning of her favorite pastimes she needed to move quickly.

Luckily, moving quickly was what Cait did best. Nearly twenty years of her and her adopted sister Imoen constantly competing for bragging rights over this or that petty theft, and chasing each other through packed groups of irritated Readers as they'd attempted to keep themselves entertained in the endlessly boring days of their youth had led to both of them having more than a slight predisposition for stealthy hijinx. Hopefully Imoen wouldn't mind too much if Cait did a speedrun of their usual route in an attempt to quiet the deep sinking pit of fear that had lived in her gut since Gorian had broken the news to her that they would be leaving soon. Even if Imoen did mind, she'd get over it. At least  _ she _ got to stay.

As Cait finished her descent, her foot made contact with something hard which was wedged between the hay bales. She rolled her eyes fondly, wiggled her foot between the bales, and pulled forward on the shape with her hooked toes until a book dislodged itself and tumbled to the ground. She laughed and bent to retrieve it.

"You and Phlydia making a mess of ol' Nessa's hay again? How many times do I gotta tell ya!"

Cait clutched the book to her chest and spun to see Dreppin's familiar sun-hardened visage glaring down at her. She smiled up at him, the familiar exchange feeling oddly melancholy even as she spoke her usual non-apology.

"It's the last time, I swear!"

Dreppin grumbled, "Well, I suppose that's so. Get that book to her, and while you're out causing trouble go 'n' fetch me an antidote from Hull. I think Ness's gotten into something again."

The monk turned to tend to his beloved cow, and Cait scurried away with a final apologetic grin. Nessa was almost definitely fine (the man doted on her too much), but she’d still get the requested bottle as her errand-running was the only method of payment she ever had to offer the man for his tolerance of her using the hayloft as a retreat when she was feeling too claustrophobic in the dormitories of the keep’s library. So her usual routine began for the last time. Gorian hadn’t said they wouldn’t be coming back, but Cait knew his tells all too well to believe him. Something important was about to happen. She didn’t know what, but it was coming, looming over her like a lone dark cloud on an otherwise clear sunlit day.

She left Phlydia’s book with her with a warm smile and a nod, placing it in the hairbrained mage’s hands before she had even managed to open her mouth to ask her if she’d seen it. She waved as she backed away, offering a cheery “I’ll see you later!”

Cait wondered if that was a lie, but decided not to think of it as one. It was easier to stay happy if she just didn’t think about unnecessary things like that.

She danced around the few guards and monks who milled around the keeps one road which led around the library’s courtyard, occasionally smiling at one or the other who offered her a parting wave. News of her departure had gotten around, she supposed. One of the many downsides of living in a town that wasn’t a town as much as it was one large house with an overlarge family and an attached inn. She told herself she wouldn’t miss it. She ducked into Winthrop’s inn and let the heavy wooden door slam behind her as usual. The four residents of the inn’s lobby looked up with irritation at the sound, and Winthrop himself barked at her for her transgression.

“Cait! You'd do well to mind your manners in my establishment, lest I start chagrin’ you for the repairs!”

Cait planted her fists on her hips and sneered petulantly, “Oh pipe down, you old fool, no one here’s gonna mind you.”

Winthrop’s wide, meaty face split into a huge grin and he threw open his arms. Cait darted around the edge of his counter and threw herself into her old friend’s embrace. His massive rounded form dwarfed her and as always the man’s hamhock arms nearly fully enveloped her. 

“‘Ere I was thinkin’ you wouldn’t stop by and visit your old pal Winthrop afore you ventured off to parts unknown ne’er to think o’ me again!”

She extracted herself from his hug and smiled up at him, “And leave you with  _ no help  _ on the busiest day of the year!” She spoke with a showman’s enthusiasm and gestured grandiosely at the miniscule gathering of people before turning back to him with an expression of theatrical sincerity, “Would I ever do that to you?”

“You sure you’d have time to run an errand before you scamper off with your father? He sounded like he was in an awful hurry.”

Cait shrugged, “He said noon, I just wanna say bye to everyone before I go.”

She thought about telling this other father of hers that she’d miss him, but that seemed too fussy and sentimental for either of their tastes, so she just twined her fingers together and avoided his eyes. He cuffed one of her narrow shoulders with his huge hand, and gestured towards the green-robed man who was seated at the inn’s primary fireplace.

“Firebead over there was askin’ after something from one of the other monks. You could go’n ask him. I’m sure he’d tip you nicely.”

Cait signaled her understanding, and began to turn towards the familiar book-seeker, but stopped as Winthrop cleared his throat. He raised an eyebrow conspiratorially and lent down to her considerably lower level.

“Oh! And I think you might find some interest in that well-to-do couple from  _ room four  _ who’re holed up in the second sitting room o’er there.”

He indicated the open doorway straight ahead of his station at the counter. Through it Cait could see two well-dressed people who were closely gathered around the smaller fireplace in the next room over and murmuring to each other unhappily. She sighed.

“Why do these nobles with more money than brains keep coming here? What’s the point! They don’t even read anything.”

Winthrop shrugged, “I expect it’s something to do with their precious  _ status _ or what-have-you.”

Cait laughed breathily and slid into the warmth of the second sitting room without making a noise. She sidled over to the couple and eyed the woman’s neck which was practically dripping with pearls and delicate golden chains.

_ Oh this’ll be fun. _

She cleared her throat softly, and the pair of pasty buck toothed gentryfolk turned with startled gasps.

“Oh, a child, how… erm… lovely.”

Cait had been annoyed when her brief pitiful attempt at puberty had failed to increase her stature by as much as an inch, especially once Imoen’s had begun and her little sister had shot up to nearly a foot taller than her. Gorian had told her her mother had been an elf, so of course she would be a bit smaller in size than her human sibling, but that did nothing to repair her bruised overlarge ego. Still, in time her unfortunate stunting had proved to have its advantages. All she had to do was hold her eyes a bit wide, keep her shoulders a bit slouched and  _ voila:  _ a harmless little waif was born. The gentleman coughed uncomfortably, and gestured for her to come closer to the fire.

"Step up to the heat, young one. You'll NEED a good fire to warm the chill stares of those monks. Most inhospitable, they are. Isn't that so, Lovey?"

The man’s wife nodded with a terse smile, "Oh yes, darling, they are MOST standoffish."

Cait tilted her head up innocently in the woman’s direction, eyeing the finery at her throat pointedly, “They lead a somewhat cloistered life here, so they are unaccustomed to many visitors. You are perhaps a bit... colorful compared to what they are used to."

"Colorful? Dear, perhaps we should dress a little more plainly to fit in?"

"It's worth a try my dear, although our clothes may only be the half of it. They certainly couldn't react any worse than they have. I thank you for the suggestion, child, and for putting it tactfully. Good eve to you.”

The pair drifted gracefully out of the room and up the stairs to the floor where the guests rooms were. Cait smiled to herself in mild disbelief.

“Every damn time…”

She skipped back into the main room, gave Winthrop a pleased wink and skidded to a halt by Firebead’s wingback chair.

“Hey, Firebead!”

As usual, the easily distracted man eyed her with only mild recognition. Undoubtedly once he placed her he’d say something about how much she’d grown as an attempt to excuse his own forgetfulness.

“"Ah yes, I'm back within the hallowed halls of Candlekeep. With this iron crisis upon us, the trip from Beregost was more hazardous than I care to relate... Cait, yes?”

Cait nodded, her lips twitching with barely suppressed laughter. 

“My, you have come into your own, if you would permit an old man jealous of youth to say so... Ah yes, I left an Identify scroll with Tethtoril, in the inner grounds. He should be done examining it by now, so if you could fetch it for me, I'd be grateful."

To her right Cait saw the pair of nobles stroll back down the stairs. The woman now wore only a refined single chain at her throat, and the both of them had dressed themselves down as effectively as they likely knew how. She nodded distractedly at the back of Firebead’s head, as he had already turned away from her and back to his book.

“Sure thing.”

She stuffed her hands into her breeches’ pockets and casually strolled up the stairs. If anyone asked, she was just going to turn down the sheets in the rooms. A task she was more than able to do if challenged, having done it a dozen times a month every month for the better part of her life. Really, it was the perfect grift. If it weren’t for the fact that she was going to have to leave Candlekeep before the end of the day she probably could have supported both herself and Winthrop well into old age with the trick.

Better not to think about that.

Room four was the closest thing to “nice” that the inn had to offer, which meant consequently that it was furnished with a slightly nicer chest of drawers than the others. While that meant the lock was just a tad trickier to pick, she’d done it enough times that she could have easily unlocked it in her sleep if required. After just a few twists of her pick the lock sprang open, and she pulled open the drawer. It was absolutely  _ filled  _ with opulent nonsense. Good lord these people never knew the meaning of the phrase “travel light.” It was unlikely anything she took would even be missed. She hastily grabbed a handful of pearl strings and gold chains, shoving them thoughtlessly into one of the small canvas pouches she kept in her magically expanded leather bag which crossed her chest in its accustomed groove to rest at her hip. Her father had helped her enchant it on her seventeenth birthday, and it remained her most impressive magical accomplishment yet. He had been so proud of her. She wondered what he’d say if he knew she mostly used it to hold the spoils of she and Imoen’s many (largely inn-based) heists along with her gnarled handmade thieves’ tools.

She tucked the pouch into her bag and smoothed the flap down carefully, before scanning the still open drawer quickly for anything particularly useful or alluring for her personal collection. She grabbed a pair of plain silver rings, an unlabeled bottle of unguent she’d figure out identifying later, and a lovely ribbon in her preferred shade of deep red. She pushed the rings both onto her right ring finger to test the sizing, stuffed the bottle into a pocket, and tied ribbon around the end of her long, deep auburn braid. She fingered the shining strip of silk in awe. It was easily the finest fabric she’d ever owned, and would be a more than adequate final prize from the inn’s more foolish clientele. She tossed her braid back over her shoulder and dashed back down the landing and stairs without encountering a soul.

She sidled up to Winthrop and slipped him the cloth bag subtly, and he in turn handed her a small pouch of gold with a wink and a smile. 

“Oh, one more thing! Take this packet to Fuller at the bunker!”

She accepted the cloth-bound package with a nod of understanding before slipping out the front doors and back to the dirt road which led her around in a circle as she headed down it, greeting the odd former tutor of hers and fulfilling the duties that were requested of her as she said her goodbyes. The chores took less than an hour, a disappointingly brief excuse to linger in her home for just a few moments longer. As she handed Firebead his requested scroll and nodded a farewell to Winthrop she sighed internally. There was only one place left to go.

She was so distracted as she crossed under the great archway into the library’s courtyard that she didn’t notice Imoen’s shadow as the younger woman snuck up behind her. Imoen grappled her from behind, and Cait shrieked a half-laughed scream as she was nearly knocked prone.

“Heya, Cait! It’s me, Imoen! Calm down!”

Cait made a sound of aggravation in the back of her throat and dusted herself off.

“Hey.”

“I’m surprised that stuffy ol’ Gorian let you away from your studies and chores, the old fiddle faddle! I snuck off too.”

Cait clenched her teeth and squeezed her fists rhythmically at her side, a movement which would be an obvious indicator to her sister she was stressed. She corrected the give by crossing her arms across her chest defensively. This was a goodbye she didn’t want to make.

“Leave me be! I’ve no time to waste on you today, child.”

Imoen’s brow furrowed with hurt for a moment, but she knew Cait too well to take the harsh words to heart.

“Little one? I’m not much younger than you, though you sure got tall fast,” she sneered sarcastically and looked Cait up and down pointedly. “Relatively, anyway.”

Cait rolled her eyes, “Gorian is expecting me for our journey. I was just about to tell him I was ready to go.”

Imoen crossed her own arms across her belly and fidgeted awkwardly.

“I never get to travel. Wish I could go with you.”

“There’s no way he’d let you, he’s got some bug up his ass and…” She considered telling Imoen of her gut-wrenching bad feeling, but decided against it. “Just, he’d never allow it.”

“Oh, I know. Old stick-in-the-mud that he is, all worried about nothing I’m sure. Not that I know anything, just, ya know.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Imoen chewed on her lip, a sure sign she was holding something back. She was a sneak with a habit of eavesdropping for the sake of gathering gossip, so Cait was sure she held some form of information that she wasn’t sure whether or not she should share. Cait didn’t think she wanted to know, so she chose not to press her.

When Cait didn’t say anything further, Imoen gave her a swift hug and dashed away back towards her daily chores at the inn with a rushed “See ya later!”

“See ya later!”

She told herself again that it wasn’t a lie, and turned towards the large formal stone steps which led to the library’s huge, ornate doors where her foster father awaited her impatiently.


End file.
